


Tell Me a Story

by Mariyekos



Series: Dimidue Week 2019 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Timeskip, Pre-Timeskip, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20394097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariyekos/pseuds/Mariyekos
Summary: When Dimitri was a child, every time he became ill he found himself surrounded by family and friends spouting stories to cheer him up and will the sickness away. But after the Tragedy of Duscur he found himself alone, until the young man he'd met during the incident appeared at his bedside, a new story on his lips.Nearly a decade later Dimitri found himself ill once again, but lacked the worries he had had following the tragedy, for he knew strong hands and a kind smile would soon find their way to him with stories aplenty, willing to stay with him no matter what.For Dimidue Week 2019! Prompt: Sickness & Injury





	Tell Me a Story

**Author's Note:**

> So tomorrow’s my first day of classes for the semester, but I saw it was Dimidue week a few hours ago and my priorities took a complete 180. This could probably be a little more polished, but I wanted to get it out today since starting tomorrow, I'll be pretty busy. I hope you enjoy.

When Dimitri was a child, he always called for his father when he became ill. Countless nurses would flood his room with herbs and soups and whatever concoctions they’d developed to chase away his fever, but he didn’t care much for them. They were too fussy. Too pushy. So he’d beg them to bring his father once the man had finished his royal duties for the day, hoping for a bedtime story about his mother or, after the Subjugation of Sreng, tales of battle. And Lambert always came within minutes of Dimitri’s request, happily sitting at his son’s bedside and ruffling his hair, planting a kiss on his son’s cheek as Dimitri whined for him not to because he was worried his father might catch his cold.

After Lambert’s marriage to Patricia, it was Dimitri’s new stepmother who came to him when he was sick. His father would come too, but only after his duties were done, unable to spare as much time due to growing turmoil Dimitri was too young to know about. So Patricia was the one to come in minutes and push back his hair, telling him about the markets in Enbarr and the different foods and flowers Empire merchants carried that Dimitri had never seen. She’d smile sweetly and wait either until Lambert came or Dimitri fell asleep, and thus whenever Dimitri was sick, he was never lonely. He had people who loved him to come give him a kiss and tell him stories and assure him he’d be well again soon.

Then the Tragedy of Duscur happened, and Dimitri was lost. 

His father was dead. His stepmother was dead. He was alone.

When he was whisked away from the tragedy and put in some sickbed, Dimitri was too dazed and numb at first to process what was going on. He was surrounded by doctors and nurses running to and fro, checking on the bandages around his head, the bandages on his back, the bandages on his hands, and wherever else they’d tried to patch him up, impossible as it was. They wanted to make him better, they said. They’d do anything they could, they said. 

But what they could wasn’t enough. He asked a young looking nurse for a story, shortly after he woke up. Something to get his mind off what had happened, he said. Off the monsters that had murdered his father and his stepmother and Glenn (who had told him a story once when he’d fallen out of a tree while playing with Felix and hurt his leg, to distract him from the pain until the healers could arrive). He wanted a story about battle and revenge. Something to satisfy the ache in his heart that had him craving- something. But the nurse just looked at him, confused, mumbling something about how his head wound must’ve been worse than they thought. Dimitri laughed bitterly in response, and the nurse bolted, looking for a more experienced healer to check him.

After that, Dimitri receded back into his mind. There was no one to help him. Not in the way he needed.

It wasn’t until the third or fourth day after he awoke that this changed.

A boy was brought in by several armored guards. He had dark skin and white hair and he was covered in bandages and bruises, just as Dimitri was. It took a second for Dimitri to realize who he was. The boy from the blacksmith’s shop he’d hidden in after his father’s murder. The one who had protected him from one of the killers with a smithing hammer as Dimitri cowered in the corner, covered in blood and ash and trembling in shock and pain.

“We match,” Dimitri said, chuckling slightly. It was an empty chuckle, and it made his chest and head hurt. One of the doctors said it was because he’d inhaled too much smoke. Another said it was because his head had been hurt. All Dimitri knew was that they both throbbed constantly, a reminder of the losses he’d endured and the duties he had to complete because of them. 

The boy looked surprised, but said nothing. 

The guards responded instead, asking Dimitri what he wanted them to do with their prisoner. That made Dimitri’s eyes widened, and a sharp pain lance through his head. It took a few seconds before his vision cleared. The guards were at his side when it did, the boy abandoned a few feet away. It took Dimitri a few more seconds to realize the boy was in chains, and that the bandages he wore to make up their matching outfits were stained with dirt and dried blood.

He ignored the guards to talk to the boy. He hadn’t had time to learn his name.

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked, frowning. “When was the last time your bandages were changed?”

One of the guards spoke before the boy could get a word in. “Your highness, don’t concern yourself with the prisoner, we-”

“I shall concern myself with what I wish. He is hurt, and I am hurt, and right now I like him more than you. So let him talk.”

The boy looked uncomfortable. It took a moment for him to respond. “They haven’t been changed, your h...uh...Dimitri. After you fell unconscious I was given some minor treatment, but that is all.”

“He’s a prisoner, your highness,” the guard explained. “We gave him enough to keep him alive for questioning, but we needed to focus on you. You’re the more important one here. He’s just some Duscur _ rat _-”

“He’s not!” Dimitri shouted, ignoring the throbbing in his head. He saw red, anger boiling in his veins. “He saved me and I saved him and you will _ not _call him that so long as I am here! It was not him that did it! He did not kill my father! It wasn’t the people of Duscur, it was-”

Dimitri was cut off by a new voice before he could finish his sentence. “Your highness, are you all right? I heard shouting from your room, and was worried something had happened.”

Lord Rodrigue stood at the door. He looked terrible.

Dimitri looked him in the eye, trying to calm down. “Take them away,” he said, voice firm. “I do not want them here anymore. They have been saying most terrible things.”

The guards looked to Dimitri, confused, but rose. Orders from the prince could not be ignored. Especially when that prince was the last living member of the royal family.

One of them moved to grab the boy from Duscur, who’d stepped back into the corner when Lord Rodrigue entered the room, but Dimitri told them not to.

“No. He stays with me.” There was no room for argument in his voice. “Lord Rodrigue, could you please call a nurse over here? I want them to look at his wounds. They don’t appear to be properly cared for, and I fear he might develop an infection if they are left as they are for much longer.”

Lord Rodrigue appeared shocked by the request. Or by how Dimitri was speaking. The guards most certainly were. But Rodrigue quickly recovered, and responded in the affirmative with a bow. A few seconds later Dimitri and the boy were alone in the room.

“Dimitri…” the boy breathed, clearly unsure of how to react to the situation.

“Are you all right?” Dimitri asked the boy. “Your face is covered in bruises, and those bandages look very...unclean.”

“Why did you defend me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you defend me? From the guards here, and from the guards when we met? They were attempting to kill me. They almost killed you, and would have done so were there not a bishop right behind them. And I am from Duscur, the land of the very people who killed your family.”

Dimitri’s face went blank. His family… No, he wouldn’t think of them. Not for that moment, no matter how much it hurt. “I did it because I needed to save someone. Everyone left me. Everyone. And you had already saved me. You had given me a place to hide when I-” his breath caught in his throat. “They were coming for me. Those who killed my parents, who were _ not _ from Duscur. The fault lies with them, not you. The doctors and Lord Rodrigue and Count whoever-it-is will not listen to me, but it was not them. And when they came for me, you picked up the hammer and ran in front of me, even though you did not know who I was. You protected a complete stranger who was covered in blood and incoherent, and I cannot thank you enough. You almost died as well. All because I was there. And thus, I-”

“Dimitri,” the boy said, taking Dimitri’s hands in his own. “You say I almost died because of you, but that could not be further from the truth. When we left the village, I was the only one left alive. If it had not been for you, I know I would have been among the dead instead. It is because of you I live, and thus I owe you my life. It is a debt I cannot hope to ever repay. I shall do whatever it takes to serve you. Whatever you desire.”

“You need not go that far.”

“But I shall. So ask me anything, and I will do it to the best of my ability.”

The boy’s grip on Dimitri’s hand tightened. It hurt a little, since Dimitri’s fingers had been cut by one of the blades that was aimed at the boy that day, but he didn’t mind. The touch was comforting. So he smiled, and made his requests.

“For the moment, I only have two things to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“First: I would like to know your name. I have been calling you ‘boy’ in my head, which is terribly insulting. Especially as I do not know how old you are. You’re certainly tall enough to be a man by now.”

The boy - man, whichever - blushed. “I am Dedue, Dimitri. And I believe I am only a year or so older than yourself.”

Dimitri nodded. It didn’t hurt as much as it did before. This boy, Dedue, had a calming aura about him. 

“As for my second request, Dedue…” He smiled. “Would you tell me a story?”

Dedue blinked. “Of course.”

The story Dedue weaved about the rain god in Duscur was one Dimitri had never heard before, and one that filled him with such wonder he was sure his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. But Dedue’s voice was soft and even, and despite how engaging the story was, Dimitri found himself drifting to sleep part of the way through. He felt at peace.

* * *

After ascending the throne, one of the first things Dimitri did was get sick. He had spent five years living in some of the worst conditions he could have thrown himself into, and then nearly a year running around fighting a war, and his body had had enough. So when he woke the morning after his coronation feeling as though he was cooking beneath his sheets, Dimitri only sighed. He had felt the signs of a cold the night before and slipped away from some of the festivities to drink tea with Dedue by the fireplace in hopes of avoiding a more serious illness, but it seemed his attempts had not succeeded. 

It also seemed, upon looking around his room, that Dedue had not yet arrived for the day. That was quite odd, given Dimitri could see bright light filtering through his curtains, indicating it was well past the time he normally awoke. Which was also odd, given he normally slept with them open so the light could help wake him in the morning. 

He briefly tried to rise, but abandoned his attempt when his vision was covered by stars and his head erupted in pain, an old wound throbbing as it protested the movement. Instead he lay on the bed, slowly breathing in and out to will the aches in his body away. That too failed, and Dimitri considered attempting to fall back asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. 

But that wouldn’t do; he was a prince- no a _ king _, and he had duties to fulfill. He’d promised to send Linhardt a list of the main kingdom nobles and their primary functions for the crown, and it had been almost a week since he’d told Ignatz a description of the trade routes still in good condition post-war would be on its way. Not to mention the meeting he had scheduled with Byleth to discuss the position of the church within the kingdom and at his table, given the church had aided in both the founding of Faerghus and its re-establishment in the newly ended war. And those were just off the top of his head. He knew he had more to do, more duties Dedue hadn’t mentioned yet to keep Dimitri’s head from exploding during his coronation, and that the longer he remained in bed, the longer it would be before he could finish them and go to bed once more. 

He needed to get up. Now. 

Dimitri took a deep breath and closed his eye, gripping his sheets as he prepared himself for the wave of pain that would hit once he moved into an upright position.

It did not come, however, because he was interrupted by the soft creak of his door as it was slowly open and shut. 

Dimitri opened his eye and looked to the source of the noise.

“Your highness?” Dedue whispered, standing in front of the door with a tray holding tea and several small dishes. 

“Ah. Good morning, Dedue,” Dimitri responded, blinking. It was a bit awkward, as his head was still on the pillow and he had to look down his chest, but it would do.

Dedue’s eyes widened and he rushed to Dimitri’s side, quickly sliding the tray onto a small stand next to Dimitri’s bed. How Dimitri hadn’t noticed that when he awoke, he did not know. Perhaps because of the illness. Which appeared to be worse than he’d like.

“How are you feeling, your highness? I have cancelled your appointments for the day, and sent messages to Count Hevring and Lord Victor informing them your responses would be slightly delayed. I have also-”

“Hold, Dedue!” Dimitri said with a chuckle. It turned into a slight cough, which made the corners of Dedue’s eyes tighten. “Thank you, my friend. But I assure you, I am fine. You do not need-”

“_ You _ do not need to lie to my, your-” Dedue’s breath caught. “-majesty. I apologize, I have been referring to you as your highness when you’ve just been coronated. It should be your majesty now. Forgive me for my slip.”

Dimitri shook his head, wincing at the way his temples pulsed from the movement. “There is nothing to apologize for. But, if you wish to avoid another mishap, perhaps you could simply refer to me as Dimitri, as you did when we first met.”

Dedue blushed. “Your majesty, that was because I did not know how titles worked in Faerghus yet.”

“So? I did not correct you, did I? And I have asked you numerous times over the years to call my by my name. What’s so hard about that? Can you not say it? Do you have some trouble forming the sounds?”

“Your-”

“Dimitri-”

Dedue sighed. “Dimitri.”

He sounded so resigned Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle once again. This one didn’t hurt his temples as much, which he was thankful for. Dedue had that effect on him, and Dimitri couldn’t appreciate it more.

“I take it you were the one who closed my curtains as well?”

“And made the tea and breakfast...Dimitri.”

Dedue spoke Dimitri’s name as though it were a secret, a treasure, and heat bloomed in Dimitri’s cheeks. Not the most pleasant feeling given he felt he was boiling anyway, but he didn’t mind. 

“You’ve always been there to take care of me, haven’t you?”

“As long as we have known each other, yes. It is an honor I pride myself in holding.”

“You really do enjoy seeing me sick, huh?”

Dedue scoffed. “Please do not tease me so, Dimitri. Or I will go back to calling you ‘your majesty’ and will pretend this conversation never occurred.”

“Dedue!” Dimitri put on his best pout. “You wound me. Can friends not jest with one another?”

“They can,” Dedue admitted, “but I would prefer you not joke about your health. You’ve always been prone to illness, and I worry for you.”

With that, Dedue rose from his place kneeling at Dimitri’s side and placed one hand behind Dimitri’s head, one underneath his legs. He slowly moved Dimitri into an upright position, the careful touch avoiding the onset of pain that came whenever Dimitri tried to move himself. It was wonderful, and Dimitri found himself longing for the touch once more when Dedue let go of him to pour the tea.

“Of course. If it makes you uncomfortable, then I shall avoid making such jokes. They’re no good when I’m the only one enjoying them, which is impossible to do if they upset you.”

Dedue handed Dimitri a cup, which he brought to his lips with shaking hands. He was slightly ashamed of the tremors, worse than he’d initially thought. The tea threatened to spill over the edges because of it.

It did not, however, because Dedue took Dimitri’s hands in his own, steadying them. Dimitri looked Dedue in the eye and Dedue looked back. Neither said anything. Dedue simply raised the cup to Dimitri’s lips and held it there until Dimitri released the pressure, moving the cup to rest in his lap. 

“Sometimes I wonder where I would be if it weren’t for you,” Dimitri said wistfully, looking down at his cup. He recognized the tea set as one his father had gifted to his birthmother for the last birthday she’d had before her passing. “But then I realize there’s no point in wondering. If it were not for you, I would be dead. If you had not saved me those nine, almost ten years ago, I would have died to the blade of the one who killed my father. If you had not saved me those five, almost six years ago, I would have died either of despair, or to the executioner’s axe. If you had not stood by my side all the years in between, I would have lost myself to my own mind and all the horrible things it concocted while you were away.”

Dimitri looked Dedue in the eye once more.

“Dedue, I owe you my life in more ways than one. You have stood by me for as long as we have known each other, never faltering. And as selfish as this may be to stay...I wish for you to never leave. Please, stay with me. Through all my illnesses and meetings and moments where I swear my sanity is begging to leave me again and I cannot focus on anything but your voice and your hands holding me tight and reassuring me that I am real and loved and alive.”

Dimitri felt the heavy blush on his cheeks, the red heat at the top of his ears, the tremble in his lip as he bared his heart to Dedue, the most loyal and loving man he had ever set eyes on.

“Dimitri…” 

A blush spread across Dedue’s face as well. His ears didn’t turn quite as red as Dimitri’s, but hew knew that was a consequence of coloration, not feelings.

Dimitri chuckled once more. With the warm tea in his lap and stomach and the sharp focus he had on Dedue, it didn’t hurt at all. So he allowed himself his laughs and smiles. “We match,” Dimitri said, his voice brimming with emotion he could never have dreamed of having after the events of Duscur.

“That we do,” Dedue said with a chuckle of his own, resting his forehead on Dimitri’s for a few wonderful seconds. He planted a small kiss upon it before he pulled away with a sigh. “But I wish it were for another reason. Your fever is quite high. I will go to procure some herbs to help lower it.”

Dedue moved to rise, but Dimitri grabbed him by the collar before he could stand. “Send a maid to do it if you must. But you know it is not the fever that is making me say such things, making me blush so.”

“Of course I do. I was only teasing,” Dedue assured Dimitri, making the king splutter.

“You can’t turn my own tricks against me! That is completely unfair!”

“But you enjoyed this joke. So I see no problem in making it, if it makes you smile.”

Dimitri sighed, bringing a hand to his face. “Fine then. But in exchange for your teasing, I have a request.”

Dedue nodded. “Ask and I shall fulfill it, no matter the difficulty.”

“Then tell me a story, if you would.”

“The story of the rain god, and the day the river Doran was born?”

“I could think of none better.”

Dimitri smiled throughout the story, basking in the sweet joy Dedue exuded as he told one of the favored tales of his homeland. And though Dimitri fought sleep as he had nine years before, his attempts were once more unsuccessful, leaving Dedue to watch with a smile as Dimitri drifted off to the words of his story, fever down, if only slightly.

**Author's Note:**

> Dimitri dies of illness in his paired ending with Dedue, and dies before his partner in quite a few endings, so I imagined he was someone who got sick fairly often. Which is not very happy, but why do headcanons exist if not to make us sad, right? Well. Lots of reasons like thinking about how these two spent their lives together in happy ways but-
> 
> As for stories...there's nothing like having someone you love talk to you while you don't feel good, you know? Especially when they tell story, which is engaging and sweet and can take your mind off how bad you feel. I don't have much experience with romance fics so this is a little different, but I did try, so I hope it was okay! Anyway, thank you again for reading. Until next time.


End file.
